Gonna ramble for a bit here.....
There's been so much ground covered already, I'd like to say all the hyperbole is largely deserved and true.
I remember being 14 and getting caught up in some silly high-school drama that made me decide it was a good idea to walk a mile and a half through a blizzard to my friend Hal's house. In my pocket was a pack of smokes and Fall From Grace on cassette. I wound up sitting in his house feeling miserable, drinking his mom's whiskey and blasting the album over and over until the sun rose.
If someone told me that over a decade later I'd be seeing the Pogues live, I would've simultaneously kissed them on the cheek and smacked them in the head. No way! But it seems to have happened.
Phillip & Co., this is easily High Fond Memory Material. I've been lucky enough to see most of my musical heroes perform live, and have seen Shane a few times, but goddamn- this has to take the cake.
Woken up every morning increasingly more sore and without speaking voice, returning to Jimmy's Corner on 44th every afternoon to warm up ("So who is this 'Pogues' anyway? And why do their fans keep coming in here?") to the countless unfortunately short conversations I had with fellow fans and Medusans these last four days, this has been a giant happy face scrawled on my calendar.
There were enough fanboy moments to make my 14 year old self blush: front and center most every night, catching the "Legalise the Irish" shirt, snagging a setlist, being caught mid-singalong in the NY Times, screaming out Nips requests to Shane and getting inadvertently hit on the head with Spider's beer tray. Who could ask for anything more?
You guys were on-point and fucking brilliant every night. You know its a great bunch of shows if a band is able to make you reappreciate songs from the catalog you already assumed yourself to be fluent with. 'Old Main Drag', 'Thousands...', 'White City', etc killed so viciously every night that they've been stuck in my head until my daily 6am shower to wash off the muck.
Anyways, the debauchery came to a perfect end when my friend Terrance and I drunkenly left Sunday's show and realized we were in a prime location to tip our hats quite literally to Mr. Cohan. Which we did, screaming the lyrics, and surely drawing the attention of quite a few tourists. We both agreed later on that night in the local that these last four nights allowed us to witness a shining, shrieking gem we'll carry in our pockets for decades to come.
Anyways, I'm obviously still fully liquidated and the sun's come up. Back to reality. Thanks so much for reaffirming me of what I first fell in love with years ago.
xoxo
ps, Judging on how hoarse I've woken up the past few days and how loud I was screaming tonight, I won't be able to return any phone calls 'til Friday.

